The Hunted
by hedanicree
Summary: From Moonlight: Mick and Beth investigate arson fires connected to Josef.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I started writing early on in the series, so it has taken an alternate 'universe' based on storyline to the point of when I started writing. It's not yet complete; there will be more to come, but other than what I am posting now, it is on hold until I finish another project. _

**The Hunted**

**Prologue**

_If humans knew what slinked in the shadows or stalked them as they ventured through a dark parking lot, they'd never leave the house again. For vampires, hunting is as natural as a human's need to go out once a year with a rifle in an attempt to return to a time before grocery stores. It is an ingrained instinct that never ends well for the prey._

_But on occasion, those roles reverse, and it is the undead that become the hunted. Josef — in all his cynicism — believes that any human who knows about us will go all Van Helsing. Then again, he has been chased by a torch-baring mob and I … well I'm young and seemed to be racking up the mistakes … the question is, which one came back to hunt me?_

**Chapter One: Indecision**

Since starting at Buzz Wire and meeting Mick St. John, every case Beth covered was a little out of the ordinary. Routine reports had since become a deeper mystery for the Web journalist to solve. Where questions once remained unanswered, she now knew where to find the answers — the problem was she could never share them with the world or with Josh.

Mick's identity had shattered her previous concepts of truth and reality. It had opened the door that lead to greater understanding of the value and precariousness of life. It forced her to push the envelope, to see more, to trust her instincts and to fight harder for what others wished to deny out of fear. Some questions were never meant to be answered by a mortal — that she was learning the hard way.

Like a double-edge sword, this drive also was her downfall. Beth second-guessed her findings. Perhaps she was looking for an excuse to see the private investigator? Josh would see her strange musings as such, and that was why for a week the journalist denied her instincts and ignored the idea that several arson fires around Los Angeles County were connected.

Beth had tried her usual methods — pulled property records, explored the premises for clues as to what the arsonist wished to destroy — or in one case, who the arsonist wished to kill. The only death was a vampire. Beth knew it the moment she saw the canines on the victim, but kept her thoughts private. Surely Mick's sources at the morgue would have informed him about the untimely death of an immortal. Despite the clues slapping her in the face, Beth dismissed it all to an over-active imagination and her subconscious driving her to find any way to be with Mick.

Tonight's findings could not be ignored when coupled with the vampire's death two days earlier. All five of the property records she pulled had different company names listed as the owners. In the grand scheme, that also wasn't odd. She lived, after all, in Los Angeles, and many companies owned _private_ property for the use of their executives and CEOs. No, what caught Beth's eyes as she sifted through papers at her desk was that a single umbrella corporation owned the smaller one's listed on the property records. She quickly accessed the annual report, and that is when she found the connection to all things Mick related and proved her musings right — CEO Josef Konstantin.

Fire could kill a vampire. She remembered it as surely as she recalled every detail of information Mick had revealed to her over the last few months. Beth even remembered every nuance and gesture that accompanied each line — the slight lift of his left brow when he thought she was being incredulous; the exasperated exhales when she pushed him a bit too far; and of course, that lopsided smile when she managed to break through his defenses.

If someone was out to hurt Josef through these arsons, then Beth owed Mick a visit. She swore to keep his world a secret, even if she hated living on the fringes; more importantly, she owed it to Mick out of friendship. After all, if Josef was a friend of her twice-savior, he too must be worth protecting…

With all this weighing heavily upon the blonde's mind, she grabbed her purse and departed the empty Buzz Wire office.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Hunted Chapter Two: Human_itarian_**

A darker creature dwelled behind Josef's good looks and smile. He had no scruples, no morals and rarely played by the rules. He'd cultivated that ruthless reputation like a gardener tended a rose, and nothing focused his inner beast more than when someone had the audacity to shaft him or risked exposing his _community_. The 400-year-old faced both at the moment, and it did nothing for his disposition.

"I don't care!" Josef railed as he paced through the expanse of his living room. One hand was shoved into the pocket of his black dress slacks. His blood red shirt was tucked meticulously into the waistband held up by a pair of black suspenders. In humans, the slight flush of his cheeks would indicate anger, but in Josef's case, it meant dinner had been interrupted. Josef hated interruptions during mealtime.

Through the windows behind the slender man, the lights of Los Angeles filled the valley below with a white, blue and reddish haze. It was a nice view, but the older vampire rarely noticed. Other things — usually business and women — occupied his waking thoughts.

"It's the principle of the thing!" Josef continued indignantly. He glanced to Mick, who waited quietly on the couch, and then mumbled, "I'm surrounded by incompetent fools," before raising his voice once more to the poor soul on the other end, "that was the fifth property. These fires are costing me millions and it's coming out of someone's hide." He stopped pacing and gestured to his phone, "idiot." A slight growl erupted from his throat, "Deal with it, Marcus — now! It's what I pay you for damn it! " And with that, he pocketed the blackberry along with the other hand.

"Rough night, Josef?" Mick asked with a tint of amusement. Dig past the charm, through the ruthlessness, and you had yet another layer of Josef Konstantin — the one that worried about more than just himself; the one with scruples. It was the piece of his friend that made the phone display amusing every time Mick sat through it.

Josef snorted as he slipped into a modern-looking, curved-back chair that could just have easily been found on the show floor of Ikea. He slouched in the chair and extended his legs, appearing relaxed and tense all at once. His hands folded together, fingertip to fingertip. His lips pursed into a severe, disdainful frown as if he had just sucked a lemon instead of received news that yet another fire claimed one of his properties.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mick continued when he received no response. It was rare that Josef remained silent over anything. He had no issues telling someone bluntly he'd kill them if they crossed him. The recent arsons bothered him on a different level — _the human level?_

"When they catch this bastard, I'm going to personally drain him — slowly," Josef spat.

_Perhaps not._"And you don't think that wouldn't look suspicious? — that it wouldn't draw even more attention?" Mick asked sarcastically. One corner of his mouth lifted, revealing his slight amusement. Josef could be exasperating at times, but tonight, he was acting like a spoiled child who just had his toys taken away. Granted the older vamp had good reasons to be upset, but still, he sulked as if…

"Some human is destroying my livelihood, Mick." The vamp sniffed disdainfully. "Besides, Charlie was killed in one of the fires," he added off-handed, as if it was a minor detail compared to his monetary losses.

"Charlie?" Mick lifted his left eyebrow.

"Yes, Charlie —" Josef shot back. He waved his hand dramatically as he spoke, before he stood abruptly. One hand glided through his short, spiky hair. "Vampire, good man — and the best damn accountant I ever had."

The private investigator laughed softly. "You're such a humanitarian."

"You have to be human to be a humanitarian, my friend, and this…" He paused, forgetting the expletives on the tip of his tongue. "This ends, Mick. It's bad for business; bad for my reputation if I don't get this _guy_; and even more importantly, it draws attention to the company and therefore…"

"The _community_," Mick cut in the final line of the same old rhetoric. When would Josef learned that problems couldn't be solved by getting angry about them? _Maybe in his next 400 years._ "Same old record, Josef. Do you want me to look into it or does _Marcus_ have it covered?"

"Of course I want you to deal with it!" Josef rolled his eyes and retook his seat; this time he looked less like a child pouting and more like the _man_ people feared. "You think I'd trust this to a mortal? Just because you trust Miss Buzz Wire to help you solve cases, doesn't mean I trust Marcus with the real investigation." Finally a tinge of a smile crossed Josef's blood-red lips, as if he were a hunter about to find prey. "How is Miss Buzz Wire, anyway? Any more _visits_?"

"No," Mick barked, taking Josef's bate before he realized what it was. "I better go. We're burning moonlight if you want me to actually find out anything tonight on these fires."

"Excuses, excuses, my friend," the elder vamp said as he stood to see his friend to the door. "When are you going to admit you like that girl, and take what she's offering." He clenched his jaw in a biting motion. His eyes flashed a cold, icy blue.

"Because — it's — Beth!" Mick practically growled back.

"Yes, yes, morals and scruples, morals and scruples," Josef returned dismissively. "Some day, Mick; it's only a matter of time before you decided you can't get enough of that sweet blonde."

"Good-bye, Josef." The words were polite, but Mick's tone held a distinct edge, a warning. Where Beth was concerned, the P.I. played on the safe side. He'd never make his best friend understand that one.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Hunted Chapter Three: Lost touch**

"Come on," Beth mumbled before knocking once more at the detective's door. For a while, it was routine that she would knock and he would ignore. Their relationship moved like a rollercoaster — often thrilling, yet very unpredictable. A piece of her contemplated that it was the reason for her attraction to the 85-year-old, and why her mind immediately locked with the thought, _he's avoiding me again._

Her tired mind calculated the seconds since her last knock as minutes instead of mere increments of the whole. Her annoyance piqued and manifested into a slight flush upon her cheeks. "Open the door, St. John," she barked this time, and then lifted her hand to rap once more upon the stainless steel. Her hand never touched the smooth surface. Just as her delicate knuckles sought to connect, the door opened with a beep and hung slightly ajar.

"Your wish is my command," Mick whispered from behind the woman, while Beth still processed the mystery of the door. He fought the urge to laugh when the blonde let out a squeak and spun around to face him. His lips pursed to combat the smile, but it was useless; the edges of his mouth twitched until they won, and a smile formed on his immortal features.

"That — was — not — funny!" Beth chirped, indignantly. She huffed and took a deep breath to settle her heart, which thumped against her breast bone. "And not fair. You have to stop doing that," she continued a bit calmer now that her heart had settled.

Mick didn't respond, but took in the details of this woman. Her blonde hair framed the round features of her face. Although obviously tired, her blue eyes still appeared to glimmer like stunning gems, brought out by the same blue found in her form-fitting, button-down blouse. Black, pen-stripped slacks and pointed-toe heels made her look statuesque despite the ten-inch difference in their heights. She was stunningly beautiful, by looks alone, and even more so for her quick-witted tongue, pushy nature and caring heart.

The vampire quickly pushed his observations to the back of his mind, the place he kept all things Beth, and gestured to the door. Like any gentleman, he stepped slightly around her to push the door open and then waited for the lady to pass its threshold. "I've always thought it was a neat trick," he admitted. Sometimes he liked abilities.

"I wish I had your stealth on some of my assignments," Beth admitted. She sat her purse down on the table behind the couch. She took a deep breath as if to breathe in the domain of Mick St. John and commit it to memory. Vampires weren't the only creatures that linked memories to scent. They just had cooler tricks to accompany it. "It would make everything so much easier."

"You look tired?" Mick commented as he moved about his home. He tossed his keys and wallet on a small table and then flipped through the mail.

"Long night," Beth admitted. She sat down on his couch, feeling comfortable enough with her friend to make herself at home. "I've been following several fires that the authorities believe are arsons."

"Ah, yes, the _Fire Demon_." The private investigator chuckled at the name. Finishing with the stack of mostly bills, he turned his attention to the hidden fridge and poured himself a glass of blood. "There's no such thing as demons, Beth."

"I believe you said that once about vampires," the young woman quickly pointed out. She smiled over the memories the words provoked. She loved mysteries. It had been her first with him, and every time Beth had the opportunity to watch him in this place or at work, she glimpsed another piece of this mystifying creature of the night. Besides, where most men went for a beer, Mick went for a glass of blood. That in itself was extraordinary.

"But I didn't come up with the _Fire Demon_ line — that was Mo — and I hate it. I actually was trying for something a little less _supernatural_." Beth shrugged. "Then she told me I was loosing my touch." The blonde scoffed. "Me — losing my touch! Hardly!"

"I'd never question it." Mick sank into the white chair across from the couch. His eyes scanned her, catching that tired look upon her face once more. "So — is this a social call?"

Beth ran a hand through her hair. Her weight shifted as she got comfortable. "We never have been much with the pleasantries, have we?" she returned rhetorically. "Business — although it is nice to see you — I thought you should know that the fires are connected. And not just in a crazed-pyro-running-through-L.A.-lighting-whatever-he-wants kind of way, but as in the properties are all owned by your friend, Josef."

"I know," Mick said flatly. "I was at Josef's earlier." His expression remained unchanged.

Beth stiffened. "Oh, well, I guess I didn't need to share then." Logically, Mick would be the first to know what was going on with people in his _community_, but for some reason, it still rubbed the reporter wrong — as if she were not needed there.

"Actually, Josef just asked me to look into the arsons for him tonight." Silently, he mused at the slight change in her mood. He could smell it in the air and sense it in her voice. _How could she think I don't need her?_ He would always fight a real relationship with this woman, but it didn't mean they weren't a good team. "Which means you're a few steps ahead of me — What do you have?"

The down-trodden air Beth wore dissipated like the night-time fog with the warmth of the sun. Her work excited her, and even more so when she had the opportunity to hunt with Mick. "Well," she started, and then launched into her deductions. She traveled through the realm of mortal sleuthing, that she started with the contents of the warehouse and property records, and eventually found her way to a dead vampire and Josef. Ten minutes later, the reporter finished the story with a sigh. "I think that's everything."

"So, what's the likelihood that you keep Josef's company out of your report?" Mick queried, still processing the information to decide where he should start.

"Josef — I'll keep out. I only see the connection because I know about — _you_," Beth said flatly. She would never endanger Mick, but it still burned each time she suppressed a story or angle. _Maybe__ Mo__ is right._ "But the company connection I'm going with. Property record searches you learn in Reporting 101. It's basic journalism, and it's only a matter of time before they connect them as subsidiaries."

"Point taken, Beth; just — _be_ — careful," Mick warned. He trusted this woman with his life. If he didn't, there is no way she would have lived that night she walked in on him feeding in the living room. What worried him more was Josef's reaction if he found out she was sniffing around his business affairs. He hoped, as always, the 400-year-old would leave Beth to his discretion.

"Have I let you down yet?" She flashed a coy smile, and then reluctantly got to her feet. She reached back and retrieved her purse from its place on the table. "I should go — it's late and Josh…"

Mick got to his feet. He ran one hand through his hair and paused to rub his neck. Of all the barriers, Josh was the one that kept the vampire from forgetting them completely. "Yeah, I'll … call me if you find out anything else. I'm going to check out the house you told me about. See if I can get anything."

"Good night, Mick." Beth licked her lips as she contemplated her next move. A colleague would exit without second thoughts, but a friend… She closed the distance between them. Slowly she rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "If I'm going to be careful about what I say, you be careful with this arsonist. I've seen what fire does to a vampire." She paused. "I rather like you the way you are."

"I'll keep that in mind," he told her as he ushered her to the door. His hand settled at the small of her back as they walked — a gentlemanly gestured picked up in his youth. "Good night, Beth." He felt the warmth leave his hand as she slipped through the door, and immediately he missed it.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Hunted Chapter Four: Hate**

The grey light before dawn loomed in the eastern sky before Mick made it to the house in West Hollywood. It was a blot on the street with sleek white homes set back from the main road, meticulously maintained yards, and Mercedes and BMWs in every driveway. The only thing to satisfy the neighbors was this particular structure — now an eye-sore — was obscured by a high stone wall, lining three-sides of the property.

This multi-million-dollar villa belonged to his best friend, Josef. The elder vamp valued privacy in all aspects of his existence, including his real estate that he kept for valued employees and associates. Unfortunately, the last occupant had left this world prematurely. As a friend, Mick couldn't help but think, _better Charlie than Josef_, especially now that he stood before the torched residence.

The body of the building still stood erect, but the roof had caved into the second floor in several locations. The columns — which supported the overhang that covered the winding porch — had toppled and allowed the easement to fold and block what remained of the windows. Fragments of glass crunched under Mick's shoes as he circled the structure, looking for an entrance. He made his way to the rear and gained access through what remained of a sliding-glass door.

Stepping into this place was like walking into a wall of fire. The detective's skin prickled and burned as if the flames still lived. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to cry out as Charlie would have when his fleshed blistered and ashed. Mick gasped in pain, overwhelmed by it all. He grabbed a charred two-by-four, bracing against the assault of his senses. His fangs extended; his eyes flashed.

Raw emotion had consumed this house. It permeated the ashen ruins, reeking like a body filled with infection. It was heat, intensity, passion, determination, all twisted and focused to create one outcome — destruction. But there was an undercurrent to this wave, threatening to rip his feet out from under him; something he had not felt at other fires.

The detective breathed deeply in an attempt to calm the effects of the debris. When he finally found himself back in the present, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He needed to talk to Beth.

"Hello," Beth's sleepy voice spoke from the other end. He could picture her curled up in her bed and the look that graced her face.

"Beth, it's Mick," he said. His voice sounded weak, even to his ears.

"Are you all right?" There was noticeable pitch change.

"Yes," he answered; the P.I. finally felt normal again. "I'm sorry if I woke you, but I need your help with something." He moved through the house now, sifting through fragments of the immortal's life.

"Name it." Her voice dropped again, as if to whisper. Faintly, he could hear another sound — the easy cadence of breathing while asleep and a second, steady heart beat not far from her. _Josh is there._

"I need to look into past employees, anyone that would have a vendetta against Josef." Mick paused in his hunt and pulled the remains of an old tint-type. _Charlie, I presume._ The vampire, who looked about forty, was holding a little girl in a white dress. Next to him stood a pleasant-looking woman with dark curls. _Everyone had a life before, I guess._ "If I forward you a list, can you take the human ones? I'll take the _other_."

"Sure. Did you find anything?" Beth was always the _good_ reporter.

"Yes and no," he returned cryptically. The past occupied his mind. _As it occupied Charlie's?_ Everyone had something they had to let go.

"What does that mean?" She huffed. There was an edge of irritation.

Mick dropped the burnt image and continued in his exploration. "I'm not sure what I found, Beth, but you know how most arson is set for the show, the thrill of it?"

"Typically." Beth sighed. He could hear the shift of fabric as she moved out of her bed. The second heart beat faded.

"This was out of vengeance — out of —hate." Finally he had found the word to describe that undercurrent, the emotion that sought to drown him. "Whoever did this, wants to hurt someone." As he finished speaking, he caught a whiff of blood in the air. His head turned quickly, sharply, in the direction of the scent. Mick knelt down and threw aside several boards.

"And you think that someone is Josef?" Beth's voice interjected in his actions.

"Who else? All the fires have been connected to Josef's company." He reached in quickly and pulled out the object calling to him — the tip of a stake, all that remained. Mick held it between his thumb and index finger just staring at the fragment. The scent of blood lingered upon it. "Besides, I think this person knows about _us._"

"Send me the list as soon as you have it," Beth returned without hesitation. He could hear the hiss of water warming. "I'll meet you at your place as soon as I have what you need. Bye."

"Beth." Mick called quickly, trying to catch her before she hung up.

"Yes." There was softness to the return that made him smile.

The vampire took a deep breath — a habit of his mortal days. "Thank you." It was nice to have someone he could count on, who would divulge information without holding back or warping the truth. He only hoped he could get as much out of Josef. After all, it was the 400-year-old's immortal life on the line.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Hunted Chapter Five: King Josef**

"Honey, your home!" Josef called sarcastically as Mick entered the apartment side to his dwelling.

The detective stopped in his tracks, staring at the well-dressed figure sitting in his living room with his feet propped up. "If I come home one of these days and you've moved in, we're going to have issues." The left side of his mouth curved slightly. He shook his head and then pulled off his sunglasses, setting them on the table behind the couch.

"Fat chance of that ever happening," the elder vamp returned. Josef pursed his lips as he glanced down to peer into a glass of blood. He spun the drink as if it were a fine wine. "The food service is lousy."

"B-Y-O-B, Josef, bring your own blood," Mick retorted, dryly. He sat down in the black chair, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Now let me guess what brings you here at this time of day…could it be that you want to know what I've found?"

Josef's shoes dropped from the coffee table. "No — not at all — I typically make social calls when I'd rather be in a freezer." He smiled broadly, the dashing one that usually charmed anyone, but there was that undercurrent to his words that usually got him called an _ass_ when he left the room.

Mick chuckled softly. After more than fifty years, the private investigator rarely bristled over their snarky, sarcastic exchanges. Instead, he found a great deal of humor in watching his best friend squirm a bit, and what was in his pocket was really going to make him wiggle like a worm on a hook. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stake tip, and then tossed it to Josef.

"What's this?" he asked, catching the remnant. Immediately, he could smell the odor Mick caught on the piece, even before Josef uncurled his fingers. Still, he examined the wood in the palm of his hand. He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Looks like Charlie was staked before the fire." Mick theorized. He hadn't managed to actually pull event details from his visit, just the emotions that still overwhelmed him when he thought on the experience. _To hate someone so blindly…_

Josef set the glass down on the end table. His lip twitched disdainfully. "Then whoever did this —"

"— Knows about _us_; yeah, I would say that's a safe bet." The irony of Josef messing up so profoundly that it landed his company at the center of media attention was just astounding — to the point that Mick enjoyed it. "And you're always telling me I need to be careful."

"Those closest to me are all vampires, Mick. The rest — have no idea." Josef growled. He stood up and paced in front of the couch. He jammed his hands, along with the fragment, in his pocket as if the act would contain his frustrations.

"Well, except your freshie friends." The detective paused there, preparing to dig in. He had seen Josef angry before, and on some level he enjoyed watching his best friend writhe. It some how took him down from that lofty place the elder vamp built with all his money. "Who would have a vendetta against you, Josef; who would actually have the gull to take vengeance?"

Josef stopped pacing. His chin dropped and he turned his head slowly, glaring at the eighty-five-year-old. "After four hundred years, it's only natural I'd have some enemies — most are dead."

"Precisely, so who, my friend, would actually go through all this work to systematically destroy your livelihood?" He drilled the other man as he would any client. The sooner Mick caught the perpetrator the better. Not only did arson fires destroy property, they had the potential of claiming lives — mortal ones.

"Oh, come on, Mick, you speak as if these fires will ruin me." The businessman's eyes flashed. He straightened to his full height. "They are flies, buzzing around the vastness of my empire." The only thing he loved more than blood was his money — and he had more than enough.

"All hail King Josef," the P.I. retorted with a laugh.

Josef echoed Mick's laugh, but it was hardly out of amusement. Only his young friend could get away with mocking him in such a fashion. "Fine." He pulled a hand from his pocket to accentuate the word dramatically. "A few vamps, couple mortals."

"I'll need a list."

"Then I'll give you a —" On instinct, Josef ducked at the loud boom that was followed by the building shuttering and rocking.

Mick gripped the chair, just as shocked over the sudden movement around him. His pictures on the wall swayed. Several crashed to the floor "What was that?" he queried, rushing to the door that lead to the rooftop balcony. He held one arm up to block the sun from his face, while watching the smoke below billowed up and then drifted off with the wind. The source of the black cloud appeared to be one of the lower floors or even the parking garage at the base. The wail of sirens steadily rose.

"It seems our hunter has followed me here," Josef quipped. He hung back from the edge, clearly disgusted over his rotten luck — or perhaps the idea that he might have to exert himself if he went over the edge. "Could this day get any better?"

_I doubt it._


	6. Chapter 6

**The Hunted Chapter Six: Schism**

Sleep had become a commodity for Beth. Long evenings covering arson fires and early morning phone calls from her favorite private investigator did nothing for the dark circles cresting below her blue eyes. The only thing, in fact, keeping them open at the moment was the rich scent of hazelnut rising from the coffee cup in her left hand.

Beth sighed heavily and then took another sip of the coffee in the midst of analyzing her footage from the week. It was the only thing she could think to do while waiting for Mick to send along the list of people she needed to check out. Arsonists, like any sociopath, were notorious for hanging around to watch the burn. Like the compulsion to set the blaze, they were driven to watch the orange flames dance. She hoped Steve had caught someone in the footage to help narrow down the list Mick said he'd send.

"Oh, come on," Beth said to herself, pleading for the elusive perpetrator to miraculously appear on her screen. She set the cup of coffee down and rubbed at her sore, stiff neck. As if by wish, her hand was quickly replaced by two stronger ones, kneading away at the taunt ropes beneath her flesh. Her eyes closed; her shoulders relaxed.

"Late night; early morning," Josh said from behind her. His thumbs pressed harder into her muscles, forcing her to arch and flex as he moved. "No breaks to your case yet?" He slowed his attentions as he bent down to press his lips to her cheek. He lingered there, inhaling the flowery scents of her hair, before returning his focus to the gentle massaging of her upper back and neck.

Beth leaned her head back slightly to look up at her boyfriend. "A few leads," the reporter confessed. "How about you?" She flashed a bright smile, charming her DA. "Any tidbits you want to leak?"

Josh's hands slipped from her and then he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Warmth filled him when Beth was near. "No comment," he whispered as his lips left her brow. He stroked her hair, enjoying the feeling of the silken threads. Moments such as these were rare of late and the schism in their relationship kept growing. He was determined not to let it, to trust in these moments as truth instead of fantasy.

"You know you have something that you're just _burning_ to share," Beth countered in mirthful tone. Humor served as a guard for her heart. As long as they could tease each other, she could keep denying the conflicts waging within regarding her man. She lifted her head and turned around, wrapping one arm over the backrest.

"I thought you had _leads_," Josh returned sarcastically. A mischievous expression claimed his face. "So why would I need to dangle any carrots for my lovely reporter?" He moved around the kitchen island and grabbed a coffee cup out of the cabinet.

Beth turned back around and started the last video clip. She felt slightly disappointed that he wouldn't aid her in giving her story a little pizzazz. "Well, I have one," the reporter started. "I found a connection last night between the properties; it turns out they are all owned by the same company." _Nothing I would keep out of a report,_ Beth reminded herself. She threw Josh another smile over her shoulder, grinning a little wider as she watched him haphazardly work the French press. He preferred the contraption to her coffee pot. Little things endured people to each other — for Beth, his ineptness with the device was as familiar as the second toothbrush in the bathroom. "I'm just waiting for a source."

Several thoughts entered Josh's mind. First, he wondered what his office was missing that his lady latched onto within the property connections to make them vital; and two, what source Beth rustled up last night. Only one came to mind and the prospect was far from pleasing; he could no longer pretend to be the happy lover. Josh looked up from his efforts. "The same source who called at the crack of dawn?" His tone was heavy with suspicion.

"Y-yes," Beth said hesitantly, picking up on the shift in tone and demeanor. The reporter never backed down from anything; however, she did recognized the fine line they walked as a couple, which was why she tried to avoid any conversation that included the name Mick St. John.

The rushing sound of liquid being poured was all that could be heard for a moment, followed closely by a clink when Josh set the press down. He picked up the cup, holding it instead of drinking its contents. "The same source that is always _assisting_ you?" His eyes remained fixed on the petite blonde, analyze every twitch, every shift, ever reaction to his question. He could read people by what they did as much as what they said. Beth claimed to love him and only him, but her actions told a different tale — they had for months.

Beth's blue eyes remained locked in the midst of this challenge of wills. "Yes," she answered evenly, disinclined to back down. She had no reason to lie to Josh, nor would she sink to such a level. Logic dictated her actions were honest, justifiable. However, lies and infidelity lived in her heart within the silent beats it sounded for another — if only she'd hear their call.

The cup hit the counter hard. Hot coffee sloshed over the brim and onto the countertop. Josh could take no more. He had to know the truth; he had to know where he stood — on firm ground or egg shells. "So when you told me when you got home that you were at the office, what you meant to say is that you were with Mick St. John."

Just because Beth was pushy, didn't mean she let people push her. Her eyes flashed with anger. "I — _was_ — at the office. He just happens to do investigations for an insurance company and it _happens_ to insure the buildings that have been torched, Josh." Justifications — they crossed her lips as lies and she didn't even realize it. She would justify her connection to Mick until the sun refused to shine, lying more to herself than Josh about her affections for the night-dweller.

"Why is it we can't seem to avoid this guy? Explain to me how he's managed to wedge himself so thoroughly in our lives?" Sarcasm dripped from Josh's lips. He stepped away from the island and leaned against the back counter. His arms crossed before his baby blue shirt, forcing his tie to bunch instead of rest flat. "Oh, wait," he started again, "you don't want to avoid him." He moved one arm to point at Beth accusingly. "It's all about what _you_ need to get your story." He huffed indignantly. "Let's just forget the fact this guy attracts trouble — who cares if you get killed so long as _you_ get your damn story!"

Beth's mouth gaped slightly in shock. Sweet, understanding Josh had just turned into a viper. "There's no reason to be angry, Josh." The same-old defense felt more and more like a lie, but couldn't logically be. "And I have made no bones about my profession or what I do! He is a professional contact that I will utilize whenever I wish. He is also _always_ welcome here and in _my_ life, which he's saved countless times and …"

"What do you mean _countless_ times?" Josh interrupted, his volume borderline yelling. He rounded the island, suddenly afraid even in the midst of his anger. He could only imagine what she hadn't told him. "If you won't listen to me, than listen to what you just said, Beth!" he demanded sharply. "He's saved you countless times? Countless?" He paused, dumbfounded by her blind ignorance where Mick was concerned. "I thought he saved you once. Clearly he's put you in harms way and you didn't even tell me about it. What else aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing," Beth answered calmly. Even before her guardian angel found his way to the forefront of her life, the reporter was constantly in danger. She put herself there with each and every investigation. No one silenced her; no one was going to deny her a story — not even Josh. "Just some of the cases he's helped me on have been — complicated."

"Yeah, like our lives have been since you met him," the lawyer retorted. His lips pursed into a frown. His jaw held tight and his brow furrowed. Mick scared him if only because Josh feared for Beth.

Josh struck a chord within his woman. His overprotective nature irritated her and blaming Mick for their issues wasn't fair. Sure, Mick awakened her to a larger world. He made her see it from a vantage point others — most — would never find. But it was how she wanted to see the world; she demanded truth no matter what she had to do to find it, and no matter how ugly or scary it might be. Beth had to have answers, and Mick would help her find them. "You've known what type of journalist I was from the moment we met; what I would do for a story. To presume that someone else is to blame for my actions in any circumstance is naive and childish on your part, Josh. If anything, I am better off now that he is in my life." She licked her lips. Her chest was heavy; she couldn't breathe. "You know where the door is if you don't like it."

The sounds of the city beyond, the hum of electricity and the pieces of a life shattering echoed in Josh's ears all at once. "Fine," he whispered breathlessly, barely able to get the word out over the lump in his throat. Whether she realized it, Beth confirmed his suspicions — when push came to shove, she'd never give up the detective. Clearly, the DA was no longer the center of her world. He grabbed his dress jacket off the back of Beth's couch and put it on, and then left her without another word between them.

Beth shuttered at the slam of the door. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall, but only for a few seconds. "Damn it," she swore as the salty fluid glided over her porcelain skin. She wiped them away as if angered by their presence. They solved nothing, except to briefly cleanse her of her pain. But the fight still ended the way they always did — with them still together, yet still apart.

Some day Beth would have to choose.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Hunted Chapter Seven: Burning**

Mick eyes squinted in the face of the haze billowing through the hallways. One arm stood at the level of his eyes, clearing away the smoke as he moved. Fires and vampires were never a good combination, but the upper floors of his building were home to families, women, children — _people_ — and professional offices occupied the lower levels, where the fire began. The morning sun still hung low in the sky, but the business day had already started for some, while others hadn't made it out the door to work. That had caused Mick concern.

Mick and Josef had forced the elevator doors, and they descended to where the fire emergency-locked the car. Fortunately, no one had been trapped within during the explosion that rocked the building ten minutes earlier. But through its doors, he could hear the faint voices from the floors beyond. He could feel the heat upon the metal barrier and he knew there were people trapped on that floor.

With several skilled leaps, the older vamp and the detective had made it up to the floor above and found the stairwell to round down to the lower level. Mick had paused at the door, peering through the wire enforced glass, and had tested the handle for any sign of heat.

"This is a bad idea, Mick," Josef had barked at his back. "We're vampires — freezers good; fire bad." One hand covered the old-one's mouth. He had coughed; his eyes had stung even behind the safety of the door.

"There are people on this floor; if you don't want to help, then head down." Mick had glanced over his shoulder. His green eyes had turned an icy blue as he had prepared to hunt for the remaining life. "Just remember who that explosion downstairs was meant for and then ask yourself if I'll let the next one just take your ancient hide."

"You wouldn't?" Josef had returned quickly, utterly shocked at the sentiment.

"You know I would." The words had flowed evenly from his lips. Human life was precious — Mick never understood how much until he had lost his humanity to be turned into a timeless creature. Even then it took him a long time to understand the value of a single life — and not a single one was going to die because someone was hunting his best friend. The PI had shoved the door open, allowing the carcinogen to billow out like a puffy cloud.

The older vampire had snarled. His eyes flashed. "And here I thought brothers in blood meant something," Josef had retorted and then followed his best friend into the smoke-filled hall. Every sense told Josef to escape, but given the circumstances, he couldn't risk Mick incinerating himself in this blaze. If Mick died, no one would stand between the businessvamp and the arsonist. Josef had too much to live for — his business, his women, eternity.

"Were you born this arrogant and self-centered, or did you cultivate it over time?" Mick half-laughed, half-coughed as the mist filled his lungs. He waved his uplifted arm, fanning away the cloud. His left hand kept contact with the wall, feeling for the suspected source of the fire on this level.

"Everything I do is calculated, Mick. How do you think I managed to keep my wealth through the centuries?" In any other setting, the remark would have been dry and serious, because it reflected one of his favorite things — money. Besides, it's what kept him from living like the little people.

"A little murder, a little mayhem, perhaps some theft." Mick waved a hand, ordering his best friend to stop with the single gesture. He remember the same reaction from his Sergeant, from point-men, from every solider he had followed through the snowy bowels of hell on the Rhine. For a moment, he was back there — a soldier on the hunt instead of a vamped-out detective seeking innocent souls. "Do you smell that? It smells like plastic."

Josef sniffed the air and immediately covered his nose and mouth again. "I can't smell anything in this smoke — so much for this suit. This stench is never coming out."

"Like you wear the same suit twice," Mick countered, and then began to test several doors as he proceeded with caution.

"True." Josef shrugged. "If there were people on this floor, Mick, we would have found them by now."

"Not if they're unconscious." Mick stopped again. A sound, distant, yet near reached his ears. It was a whimper, a cry, _a plea_?

"You have an answer for everything."

"Josef, be quiet and listen," the detective ordered sharply, and then went back to listening for the faint sounds. Sure enough, someone was here. He had thought for a moment the noises he heard from the elevator were from another floor, but now he was certain — someone was trapped. "Start checking those doors. Now!"

Upon that command, Mick left his friend to check the remainder of offices in this juncture. If the handle was cool enough to touch, he threw the barrier open to check the offices quickly. He could hear Josef finally acting instead of playing follow-the-leader, and doing the same down the opposite side of the passageway.

Only when the younger vampire came to the end of the hallway did he discover the source heating the elevator and its shaft. He jerked back when the handle on the door burned his palm. "Shit! Ouch!" he swore, dancing around and shaking the wounded appendage. "I think we found our fire."

"Then shouldn't we leave?" Josef yelled from the other end. He hated fire for its detrimental effects, but what he hated more was the noxious air and the way it smelled. With his vampire senses, it was worse than cutting an onion for humans.

"Josef!" Mick barked in exasperation. "Just stay back in case there's a backdraft."

"Completely inspiring!" The four-hundred-year-old yelled. He opened his eyes as wide as they would in the stinging smoke to make out his jean-clad friend kicking in a door.

As Mick's boot broke the seal on the entryway, he used his vampire speed to roll his body to the side. A sharp hiss and rush of flame extended rapidly into the hallway. Mick jumped back further away from the explosion that followed the rupture. He yelped as the edges of the blaze grazed his skin, scorching the hair on his arm guarding his face and burning the same flesh.

"Help."

The sound touched the detective's ears. He could hear it clearly now, drifting as if on smoke in the midst of the raging inferno. Mick lowered his arm, already healing. His face was marred with soot from the minor explosion, and sweat left white traces in the black marks. He leap-froged the flames barring the portal and moved into what was up until fifteen minutes earlier an art studio. The twin columns supporting the ceiling in the open space buckled half-way up. Ceiling panels dropped in increasing intervals, smashing as they struck the floor.

Mick dodged the rain of fire. He flipped over several fallen shelves in his search for the tiny, choked voice calling for assistance. It was there, in a corner at the far side of the room, trapped under a support that once hung from the ceiling to secure paintings and art. As if it were no heavier than a doll, the eighty-five-year-old tossed the metal bar aside and lifted the young man out of the debris. He put him over his shoulder and began to trek through the obstacle course of flame closing rapidly in front of him.

"Mick! Let's go!" Josef shouted. His arms flailed, trying to draw his best friend to the direction of the column that was noticeably shifting.

The world moved in slow motion, as if each heartbeat counted in the midst of these flames. The wild dance of his best friend in the doorway was surreal, dreamlike, and Mick realized a moment too late what the elder vampire was trying to tell him. He looked left at the sound of grumble in the structure. The column collapsed. As it toppled, the fire-weakened floor beneath the would-be hero's feet started to give. All it took was the column striking and the extra weight of the ceiling debris crashing in to send Mick and his bystander into the depths of flame that already claimed the levels below.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Hunted Chapter Eight: Elemental**

Of all the elements that cleansed the world, fire reduced everything in its wake to ash, leaving no trace of what once existed. Yet out of the ashes, nature always found a way to rebuild what was once destroyed. The sentiment was fine in theory, but it failed to take into account that the people, the irreplaceable lives caught in the heat and smoke would not come back in the rebirth. They would turn to ash, to dust, to earth — never to be seen again.

Staring up at the blazing building, Beth wondered if she would ever see Mick again. Her eyes strained to see the balcony attached to his apartment, but the thick black smoke blotted out the sky as if in night. It cleared only briefly for her to see that the levels above still stood, although the building's base looked as charred as coal.

_It's going to be a long day. _

She took a deep breath and stepped out of her car. After her fight with Josh, Buzz Wire's top reporter had called the private investigator. She wanted a distraction from her woes, and work was the best place to hide. Mick hadn't answered and that surprised her, if only because she was expecting his call. Per usual, her tenacity wouldn't be staunched, and she was halfway to Mick's when Mo called to tell her about another arson fire. Her heart had stopped — if only for a moment — when the building came into view and Beth realized why the address sounded familiar.

"Beth!" Her cameraman's voice cut through the noise of firefighters and rescue crews seeking to save the building.

Her blonde hair whipped through the air as the reporter turned. "What do we got?" she asked, slipping into reporter mode. Right now she had a job to do; she'd worry about Mick later.

"I've filmed some establishing shots of the firefighters and crews. The fire seems to contained at the lower levels, but it has trapped people on the upper floors. I got a really nice wide-angle shot of a rescue with the truck." Steve shifted the camera on his shoulder, getting a bit more comfortable under its weight. "Other than that, lead the way, boss, and I'll keep filming."

"You get as much pleasure out of covering this stuff as I do." A smirk rose upon Beth's soft-pink lips. The reporter loved her beat — the crime, the drama, the mystery, the grime, the filth — the fun. It thrilled her to an unexplainable level, but one that scared most. Had this been any other building and not been linked to her detective and his friend, she would have derived equal pleasure in sleuthing this story out.

"Guilty," he confessed with a shrug. Mostly he just liked watching Beth work. She always managed to get her story

Without further adieu, Beth moved into the thick of reporters and spectators with Steve hard on her heels. The rush of water and noise from the crowd and rescue workers was deafening. The only sure sound was the rising thump of her heart, pulsating in her ears with each step she took. As she directed her coworker, Beth also consciously kept an eye out for Mick. She hoped he was already amongst this crowd and not still in the upper regions of the building.

"Get that!" she ordered, pointing at a firefighter carrying the body of a man. The reporter could not tell if the man was alive or dead. Mick could tell. He could hear her heart beat even before she got off the elevator if he focused. _I wonder if he can hear it now._ Her fear got the best of her for a moment — but only for a moment — she had work to do.

She leaned into Steve in what would otherwise be considered an intimate gesture if the street had been quieter. "I'm going to move in closer, past the police line, to see if I can find anything — stay here and keep shooting. Get whatever you think will work."

"You're not going to do anything rash are you?" he asked, a little concerned. It was one thing to cross the line to get her money shot; it was another to approach a fire so brazenly when it still raged within.

"Hey it's me!" Beth smiled boldly to put her cameraman at ease. "Do I ever do anything rash?"

"Every day," he shot back. "Just stay out of the building."

Beth's eyes went wide and she pressed a hand to her heart as if wounded by the statement. "Now why would I do a fool thing like that?" she returned, and then disappeared into the sea of bodies. The reporter took a deep breath as she pushed past people – she was a big girl and could take care of herself. Besides, she need to find answers, leads, as much as she wanted to make certain Mick was still alive. She couldn't do any of that from the sidelines.

With the crowd, it did not take much for Beth to sneak past a guarding policeman. She glanced over her shoulder to look back at the safety zone, and then headed forward to a darker place. In this realm, the air choked and the spray misted to fall on the street below as if a gentle rain.

But the scene of a fire was nothing gentle or serene. It filled her with dread and fear the closer she got to the structure. Images flashed in her mind of a night long ago: _The fire swept up the walls and consumed the dark-haired woman that had stolen her from her bed._ Mick's face had filled her dreams for awhile now; his face clouded the images of that night. Because he was on her mind, she knew no fear in the face of the present danger.

She moved around fire trucks, listening intently to the men and women working. Their conversations remained on their duties, providing nothing relevant for the Web journalist. As she made her way past the second truck, her high heels slipped on the wet concrete. She grabbed the emergency vehicle to keep from falling. As she regained her footing, Beth heard a familiar voice. She pressed her back against the red truck and slid to the end to peer around, eavesdropping on her source in the police department and a man with a fire chief patch on his sleeve.

_"It looks like it's another arson fire, Carl, but it's not like the other ones," the short burly man said. He was definitely past his prime, and from the looks of him, he had probably sat behind a desk for years._

_"What do you mean, Mike?" Carl moved a little closer to the chief as they spoke._

_"Witnesses described this one as an explosion," he clarified. "I'm sending my reports over later today, but from what the investigators found at the other sites, the arsonist used accelerants — lighter fluid, kerosene — fuels that mostly burned, not explode."_

_"There could have been something stored here to account for the explosion, Mike. The fire could have ignited the gas tanks on the vehicles," Carl reminded, but the explosion detail made him wonder if this building was connected at all to the rash of fires that had been sweeping Los Angeles County. _

_"I won't know more until the investigators look into this one, but first impressions — they're not related — and between us." He paused briefly, making sure he had an understanding with the detective. "It was a bomb, Carl. We think centered in the parking garage on the lower level; probably near the elevator because initial reports from my crews are that the floors are hottest near the shaft."_

_"All right, keep me posted, Mike." Carl clasped the chief's shoulder, and then headed back toward the police line._

"A bomb, huh?" Beth pondered the revelation for a few moments. Arsonists, like any criminal stayed true to their M.O., changing only when they feared getting caught. So far the police had no leads, so why would he change? _What if the target was mobile?_ she considered. A bomb would be the only means in taking out the target — _Josef?_ It would explain the change in M.O. and explain why they struck Mick's building — Mick was connected to Josef just as the other buildings were. Carl, Josh and the fire chief wouldn't have any way of knowing that little detail. _It has to be the same person,_ she reasoned, solidifying her mindset.

Beth turned her attention back to the blazing building. She scouted every window, every opening as she progressed along the front toward where the medic units were. Typically she parked in Mick's garage and took the elevator up to his floor, but such a route wasn't an option in what she was determined to do next.

The intrepid reporter looked from side to side, making sure no one paid her any heed, before rounded the side of the building. About halfway down the wall, there was a locked side entrance for the stairs. It was one of the emergency exits and one of the most-likely routes for anyone ascending or descending the structure.

Her heart-rate doubled as she crossed the threshold of the open passageway. Her hands tingled with the rush of blood through her veins. The lights flashed above her head, and the waves of heat spiraling down the well were intense. Still, she climbed; her eyes looked to the levels above. Beth coughed as she scaled the steps; the air was barely breathable. She covered her mouth with the sleeve of her blouse.

Beth gripped the rail with her other hand. She closed her eyes, feeling dizzy, and cursing that she had only made it the first level before the intensity sought to drive her back. "Damn it!" she swore between fits, and then willed her feet to move again.

The blonde only made it two steps before a hand on her arm whirled her around. She let out a shriek and yanked her arm away before ever seeing her assailants face. "Josef?" she queried, when she stood face to face with her attacker. Ash covered the vampires face. Beads of sweat lingered on his brow and streaked the black. His hands and one arm were burnt, black and bloody. "Where's Mick?"

"We got separated," Josef responded. He ran a charred hand through his light brown hair, shaking the debris from it. Silver-colored eyes darted about as if distracted by something. "The floor gave out on the fourth floor and he fell."

"Then we have to find him!" Beth turned to climb up to the next level.

Josef grabbed her arm again. "You can't get in through here. The fire is too hot. I've tried, Miss Turner."

Beth's blue eyes widened as a sense of panic set in. "You can't just leave him! I won't leave him."

"Save your righteous indignation for when it matters," the four-hundred-year-old vamp countered coldly. He was burnt, tired, his wounds had made him hungry and to top it off, the fire ruined his suit. What Josef didn't want to deal with was a panicked mortal when he was hunting for his best friend. "I have no intention of leaving Mick — although I should," he added the last part disdainfully. "I have a plan, but we need to get outside."

Beth nodded. Hope filled her heart as she put her trust in her guardian's closest friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Hunted Chapter Nine: Seeker**

Josef ran down the stairs faster than Beth could blink, let alone move, and disappeared out the door. The reporter took the stairs as quickly as she could in her high heels and skidded to a stop outside. Her blonde hair tossed as she sought out the vampire. "Where the devil?"

"Are you coming?" a curt voice called from the backside of the building. Josef's head emerged from around the corner. His lips curved down into a sour expression. "Mortals…" he mumbled before leaving the woman to follow in his wake.

His silver-cast eyes scanned the building. He inhaled deeply, savoring the carcinogen-free air, and called on his memories. Four stories up — "We were there." He pointed toward the window. Smoke leapt through the broken glass, seeking oxygen like a drowning man. "Which means…" He lowered his chin. Fire engulfed the third floor. Smoke and flamed lined the entire row of windows. The fire crews had yet to strike this hotspot, and Josef doubted they'd catch on before he had the chance to find Mick. They were _only human_. And it was the only visible way in.

Josef pulled off his partially burnt jacket. He extended his right arm and shoved the fabric into Beth's hands as she caught up to him. "I know you're all bound-in-that-mortal-coil thing, but could you at least move faster."

"You try running in heels!" the reporter retorted darkly. She glared at the vampire.

"Maybe in my next life," he returned. He pulled off his pocket watch that was hooked to the vest of his tailored suit. "Hold this — _please _—" he added the pleasantry as an afterthought to the woman's feelings, but hardly out of manners. There wasn't enough time to remember his breeding. "— And don't loose it."

Ever paranoid, Josef quickly looked around to make sure he was in the clear. The last thing he needed or wanted was for some camera crew or citizen filmmaker capturing him in a gravity-defying feat. When he was sure only he and Beth were around, he bent his knees and launched effortlessly three-stories into the air. He landed on the window ceil, sending brick cascading down and barely missing the reporter. The flames danced and sought out the would-be invader. Josef's back pressed against the corner to avoid the blaze. He gripped the edge of the frame and steadied himself.

With one last deep breath, he jumped into the hothouse. "Mick!" he shouted. His arms crossed in front of his face to block away the flame and smoke. "You self-righteous bastard, where in this hell are you?" He moved cautiously, testing his footing and periodically glancing to the ceiling to find the general area of the cave-in. The air was thick, black and choking. It stunned his senses, more so than the gray haze he and Mick walked through on the floor above.

The flames were all around, making the room virtually impassable, but as he navigated the maze of red and orange, he spotted the hole in the floor above. The building creaked as if shouting, 'go no farther,' but Josef would not stall or deter from the pile of debris below the opening. Protruding from underneath ceiling tiles, flaming wood and metal was a familiar-looking black boot and a denim-clad leg.

With a roar of urgency, Josef grabbed a long two-by-four and tossed it down in front of him to create a clear path in the hotbed. His oxford-style shoes slide on the partially charred wood as he quickly moved toward his objective. The vampire hurled board after board off of his friend, single-mindedly focused on Mick instead of the burning flesh of his hands.

Josef stopped in a coughing fit when he finally spotted his friend in the rubble, pausing briefly before he dragged the body out. "Mick! Mick!" The businessman shook the younger one. He grumbled expletives in a German dialect he picked up while in Vienna a century before. The curses sounded so much more guttural and rude than any other language he'd toyed with over the years, and thus fit his mood perfectly.

"Mick!" Josef yelled again, frustrated. "Wake up!" He drew back a hand to strike the eighty-five-year-old and smacked him across the face.

The P.I.'s eyes fluttered open at the belt; the whites of his eyes were cast a sickly yellow. "Oh, shit!" Mick cursed through a cough. His eyes closed again, furrowing his brow, as a rush of pain enveloped his senses. The left side of his body was blistered with burns. The fabric of his clothes meshed with the wounds, making the damage all the more agonizing. The last thing he remembered was Josef waving frantically at him, and then the torture of fire on flesh.

"Come on; I'm getting you out of here," Josef told him quickly. He scanned the younger vampire, assessing the damage, but ultimately decided the other man would heal. He ushered Mick to his feet and wrapped an arm around his back and Mick's arm around his shoulders.

"No, wait!" Mick barked; weak with pain, his voice did not hold the usual bite. "He's still alive; you can't leave him." The vampire glanced down into the rubble. Through the hissing and crackling of flame, he could still hear the distinct rhythm of a heart beat.

"You have to be kidding me!" The older night-dweller swore in exasperation. "What is it with you and humans?! Argh."

Josef lowered Mick to a sitting position and pulled the man from the ashes. He slung the body about with no more effort than lifting a feather. "Happy now," he grumbled rudely.

"Josef Konstantin — hero," Mick retorted sarcastically. "Never going to hear that combination again." He stood to the best of his ability, but only raised half-way before Josef slung an arm around him to support his weight again.

"You're right — because next time you have delusions of grandeur, _you_ — _are_ — _on_ — _your_ — _own_!" he coughed out. He couldn't even cover his mouth or protect his eyes while carrying the human and his closest friend. His silver-tone orbs stung in the haze. He shook his head while searching for yet another route through the mess and back to the window.

It felt like an eternity before they finally made it back to the window. Josef looked to the ground below, where Beth anxiously waited. If the smoke wasn't clouding his senses, he would have smelled her fear – it mirrored his in the moment. Alone, jumping thirty feet would have been an easy task for him — but loaded and with a human in tow... "Can you jump?"

"Do we — have a — choice," Mick choked out. Hurt, hungry and burnt to Hades, the private investigator just wanted out.

"Good point," Josef returned dryly and then stepped off the edge, taking Mick along for the ride.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Hunted Chapter Ten: Looking On**

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub came the echo of Beth's heart. Her breath stilled within her chest. Her blue eyes were fixed upward and followed the fall of the vampires. She had seen this scene before, in a movie, _a fairytale_. She was mixed up in something worthy of the original Grimm tales — dark and scary, yet utterly fantastic. It hypnotized her, called to her; so all she could do was look on until Josef's feet hit the ground.

Only then did she dare breathe.

The vampire landed like a cat, graceful and dignified even after a long fall, but was quickly thrown off balance by the weight on either side of him. Mick dropped to his knees on impact, swinging Josef down toward him, only for the man on the older vamp's shoulder to set him wobbling in the other direction. The trio landed in a heap upon the grassy patch at the rear of Mick's building.

Adrenaline coursed through Beth's veins. Fear gripped her, and she felt completely powerless. Within one of the heart beats ringing in her ears, she moved and landed on her knees in front of her friend. "Mick?" Her voice cracked. One hand hovered above him; she was afraid to extend it, to touch him in case she'd hurt him. "Are you all right?"

The damage to the vampires would have killed normal men, but they were not governed by the rules of mortal flesh. Their weaknesses were few and far between, and even in the face of one, they — _Mick_ — had survived. Tears formed at the edge of her eyes. _Would he always be here?_ she wondered, but her mind would not let her imagine a world without this vampire and the fantastic things that existed.

Gingerly, the reporter placed a hand upon his dirty, burnt cheek, desperately trying not to hurt him but filled with a desire to know he was real; he lived and not just in dream.

"Beth." Her name rolled of his tongue like honey. The pain disappeared in the brief moment that passed between them. It was if Father Time had held that second to allow him to soak in a lifetime of emotion found solely in her beautiful eyes. It scared him to look to the depths of her soul, peering into a place he didn't dare go. "I'll be fine," he continued after averting his eyes from her gaze. He shook his head in attempt to reset his senses.

"I hate to interrupt this intimate moment," Josef interjected. Now on his feet, the businessvamp dusted off his suit. "But in about sixty seconds, the fire crews will head this way and I really don't want to be around to explain why we don't need medical attention." He reached down, grabbed Mick's arm and pulled him up to his feet. He supported the taller man, allowing the detective to use him as crunch. "But he does." Josef gestured to the body on the ground.

Beth rose to her feet. She ran a hand through her mused hair, looking around frantically. In the midst of her worry, she had long forgotten that there were police and emergency crews everywhere. Each person represented a risk to the secrecy of the vampire community. "Go — I'll take care of him," she said. Her eyes held the detectives for two more beats of her heart, before she exerted her energy to the care of her fellow mortal.

The journalist waited for what felt like an eternity, and then began to shout, "Help! He needs help!" All the while, her eyes kept darting in the direction Mick and Josef journeyed. A longing filled her. She wanted to be two steps behind them, but once more was left looking on.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Hunted Chapter Eleven: Through the lens**

On the fringes, Steve walked through the crowd. His camera perched upon his shoulder, recording the day as if it were meant for history. The crews were quickly securing the first five floors of the building. Fires still burned hot on the fourth floor, but even now the hoses drilled through shattered windows, squelching the life of the blaze.

On the edge of his peripheral vision, a melee of motion started with the rush of several firemen to the south end of the building. Steve panned over, focusing on the disturbance. Trucks and yellow-clad figures blocked the cameraman's view briefly as a swarm traveled toward the EMTs. He zoomed in closer and his eyes squinted to see the softer yellow just off a man's shoulder. It danced about, bobbed as it kept in time with the hurried march.

As they approached the ambulances, one by one the crowd of emergency workers cleared to reveal the bodies once obscured. Buzz Wire reporter and Steve's partner in all things news trailed behind a stretcher. One of her hands clung to the fabric of the end. From a distance, it appeared to pull her along as if she were chained to it. It was only when they lifted the body into the ambulance that she moved away. Her hand, now free from its capture, ran through her mussed blonde hair. Her chest heaved as if her lungs fought for breath. Her body then relaxed, if only for a moment, before Beth began to search for something, someone — Steve could only speculate.

Beth's erratic motion stilled, but she hardly looked at ease. Black smudged her face; her immaculate clothes were no longer suitable for a live report; and her eyes reminded Steve of a frightened mother that had a precious life taken from her. The observation didn't really make sense in his mind, but it existed nonetheless. The reporter took one step to the right than another to the left; indecisions made her sway like a swaggering drunk, until she finally picked a path.

Beth cleared the trucks, heading toward Steve. Her petite form grew within the lens frame. The woman belonged on film, of that the cameraman was certain. Great body, eloquent features and porcelain skin — the twenty-eight-year-old was beautiful. He growled to himself, muttering about keeping a professional relationship, and let his equipment drift to the right — away from the stunning, even when mussed, Beth Turner.

"Back to work," he chided. He shifted the camera weight on his shoulder, turning as he did so, and smacked a bystander as he moved.

"Hey, watch it!" the man barked at the newsmen. His coffee bounced when it hit the ground, sloshing the liquid up and onto his shoes and pant leg. "These are new jeans, man!"

"I'm sorry," Steve apologized. He cursed himself for his ineptness, wondering briefly if it was why he never managed to snag a woman like Beth. He fumbled for the right words, at a loss on how to solve the situation except to apologize again when the onlooker cursed under his breath. "Really, I'm sorry."

The young man in his mid-twenties shook off his jeans. He growl indignantly. When the shock and irritation of the moment passed, he finally looked up at the klutz. "I just bought these jeans," he reiterated.

Steve's breath drew in at the shock of recognition. He had spent the better part of his nights the last week camped out in front of blazes on the trail of an arsonist. He never shot the crowd, but he always scanned it, kept an eye out for familiar faces from one scene to the next. His world might exist within a captured moment, but to see anything through the lens, he had to have a good eye to start with. And he knew the face before him. "I — I know you," he gasped out.

"What?" the assaulted returned sharply. "No, man, I'm sorry; I don't think so. Just forget the jeans." He moved to step around his accidental assailant.

Steve quickly grabbed his arm. "No, I really think I know you," he stated again; this time his words came out slow and sharp. "You were at that warehouse fire two nights ago and —" He paused, realization dawning that he might have found a lead. "— and at the house fire."

The college-aged man yanked his arm away. "You've mistaken me for someone else," he retorted darkly. He didn't wait for a reaction, but instead forced his way through the crowd, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed.

Startled by the abrupt get-away, Steve stared a bit dumbfounded before common sense kicked in. He focused his equipment and captured the last remaining images of the footage that would make Beth's day. He smiled broadly.

"What are you so pleased about?" Beth asked. She was tired, worn, and the day was still young.

He glanced over his empty shoulder. His self-congratulating grin grew even wider. "Tell me you love me."

Beth arched a brow and drew her chin back, confused by such a bold statement. "Why?"

"Because, Miss Turner," he started cheekily, "I think I found our arsonist."

The Web journalist's face lit like a light from behind the dark smudges. "Are you serious?"

Steve chuckled. "The camera sees all." The ominous words were echoed by a laugh.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Hunted Chapter Twelve: Ala mode**

Tip-tap-tip-tap-tip-tap-tip-tap-tip-tap. Beth's polished fingers drummed Steve's desk absently while he pulled up the video footage from the previous files and the clip from that morning. "I cannot believe I missed him." She shook her head and silently kicked herself. Mick's building marked the sixth struck by the string of fires. And although no one had died, two people were hospitalized, three firefighters were treated for smoke inhalation, and two vampires barely escaped with one of the two men hospitalized and their lives. Maybe Mo was right and she was loosing her touch. Her ineptness could have cost Mick his life, and she wasn't about to let anything slip past her again. Besides, Josh once told her Nancy Drew had nothing on her. She only hoped he was correct.

"I didn't think anything about it either, Beth," Steve reassured her. One hand came up to point at the screen as he hit pause. "There. Same guy from this morning. I didn't even realize I caught him on camera before."

"At least we have a face to go on now," Beth countered. _Lot of good it does,_ she silently chastised. "I'll see if Sam can run the face recognition software and if that fails, I'll see if Josh or Carl can get an ID, criminal records, home address…the works." She reached in her pocket and pulled out her iPhone.

Steve turned slightly. "So, when are you going to ditch Mr. ADA for mawaw?" He raised both hands to indicate himself as he spoke the last word. He flashed his partner a smooth smile when she glanced up from her pocket rifling. Ritual banter, it was one of the best things about their work day.

Beth pulled the phone out of her pocket, clutching it in her hand. "Steve, I love you for finding our man, but let's focus on the job at hand." She broke eye contact to scroll through the recent sent calls. "Besides, you'll always have the time you felt me up while putting the microphone on for my undercover work at Hearst." Her blues darted up to catch the look in his face, before focusing on her phone again.

"I cherish the memory," he returned sarcastically. It definitely was one of their better 'working' moments.

"I'm sure you do," Beth countered absently. The intrepid reporter was in the midst of multi-tasking their conversation and listening to the series of rings that eventually went to voicemail: _"You've reach Mick St. John. Please leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as I can."_

The blonde growled and hung up at the sound of the obnoxious beep. She tossed the phone down on the desk, and then pushed it away as if distance would keep her from dialing Mick's number again. It felt like the hundredth time she'd heard that mailbox voice tag since they had parted company a few hours before. She knew Mick was in good hands with Josef. They were probably asleep, healing from the burns they sustained. She sighed heavily.

"You're worried about St. John?" Steve queried. He knew Beth had leads on the story that she wasn't sharing, but after today he knew enough to suspect that the fires were brought to them in part by Mick St. John, private dick.

The sound of Steve's voice pulled her from her revelry. She forced a pleasant smile. "Not after I have Sam run her program on this. Can you pull a still of the frame for her to run?"

"Easy as pie," the cameraman said in a mock-chipper tone. He quickly pulled up the camera functions on his video editing software and saved the .jpg image file to a jump drive. After a few more clicks, he removed the thumb drive and handed it to her. "See — pie or cake or whatever dessert you wish."

"I'll take what you have, as long as it's ala mode." She took the drive, grabbed her cell and headed off to see the wizard of Buzz Wire.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Hunted Chapter Thirteen: Leads**

Mick's eyes popped open at the sound of something buzzing. He exhaled slowly, letting his breath crystallize within his freezer bed. His eyes looked from side-to-side, assessing his location. His groggy mind didn't comprehend where he was, just that he wasn't in his custom 'bed' in his custom room in his modern apartment. The top of this freezer wasn't glass.

The vampire rose up, pushing the door and letting it flop at its hinges. The light inside the appliance glowed. The brilliant white-blue allowed the night dweller to take in his surroundings. He was in a small room. Curtains hung on three walls, but no light seeped along the edges. Perhaps it was night or perhaps they created a sanctuary within a larger space, but he had a vague recollection of this place.

He stretched his arms above his head and rolled his neck. He cringed when it popped, but welcomed the relief to his vertebrae. The rest of his body ached; the way it only did after sustaining wounds no mortal could survive. He dusted off the frost and looked over his flesh, particularly where his bones throbbed. As his hand skimmed down his arm, a flash of burnt, red skin entered his mind; he remembered.

"Shit," he swore. It was all he could say given the circumstances. The lower levels of his building resembled the inside of a fireplace; his apartment was probably ash like he almost became; and what was better yet — they still had no leads as to who wanted Joseph dead so badly they'd hit the detective's home. So far the day hadn't held much promise. Its only saving grace was that they had managed to make it back to Josef's private home after hitting up Guillermo for some emergency rations.

Mick had been a mess by the time Josef and a member of his house staff dropped him into the freezer in one of elder vamp's spare rooms — specifically the one reserved for _special guests_. He had peeled off what remained of his clothing, tossing the articles from the freezer. He wasn't sure where exactly they landed; the detective had barely been coherent. Even now it felt like a dream or a bad B movie he remembered from the 1980s — none of it seemed real. Just like the day after his wedding.

He ran a hand through his light brown hair in frustration. Mick slowly let out a huff of air, letting it hiss across his lips and crystallize in the sub-zero temperature. It was only then that he scanned his surroundings again to confirm his fragmented memories. What remained of his wardrobe rested in heaps around his bed. He growled, now faced with the dilemma he typically only experienced when going out on a date — _what the hell do I wear?_

Even that simple question was answered a moment later when his eyes sought out a wardrobe or chest of drawers. On a chair next to the freezer sat a pair of jeans and one of Josef's button-down, collar shirts. They were about the same size. Josef was slightly shorter and thinner than the younger vampire though, and their choice in clothing — not exactly the same. The four-hundred-year-old was more into tailored suits while Mick preferred a decent pair of jeans and a Henley. But at least Josef — more likely his staff — had the forethought to leave his house guest something to wear.

Mick shoved up on edge of his bed. He climbed out, stretched and then quickly dressed in his friend's offered wardrobe. As he drew on the fabric, he noted the slight discoloration of the flesh it crossed. _Another feeding and that should fade._ His fingers worked the clear round buttons from the top down. When he finished, Mick twisted and rolled his shoulders. It was just a little snug across the chest, just enough to be uncomfortable and annoying, but more importantly, enough to despise his best friend for complicating his life.

He flipped the switch on the wall to illuminate his surroundings. He expected an overhead light, but instead a floor lamp in the corner brightened the curtained-off section. Quickly glancing about, he found his illusive footwear not far from his charbroiled jeans and his formerly favorite Henley. He picked up the shirt, shaking his head as he did. The fabric reeked like smoke. As he inhaled, he caught the shadows of the morning's events and then something else altogether…

_A woman walked down a darkened street. Her face was masked by shadow. Yet in the air around her, there was no fear for what bumped in the night. Her long, straight black hair swished as she moved. Her high heels clicked on the pavement. A glimmer of silver hung about her neck, a cross of Celtic design. Its color stood out in the darkness, practically a beacon of light for any night dweller. She tossed her head back, and her laughter drifted as if on the wind. Her voice was light, airy and beautiful as she addressed the figure beside her. She turned around and smiled as if she had been waiting for him there all this time. The image of her face rushed through his mind. "Mmmiicckkk," she called, drawing out his name._

And then the vision was gone.

Mick dropped the Henley; his hands shook. He knew that face down to the color of her round, saucer-like eyes. The vampire even remembered her perfume and her blood type. She was A, just like the rest of her family and just like he was as a mortal. What scared him the most at that second was why after twenty years, an article of clothing scented with that morning's fire would bring him a vision of _her_.

"Damn I need to get it together," Mick swore. The detective took a deep breath, brushing aside the vision. He racked his brain to justify the unexplainable. His past always came back to haunt him at strange moments, and she was, after all, one of the many faces on his long list of immortal regrets.

Mick closed his eyes and washed his hand down his face. It stilled to cover his eyes and hide the pain etched beneath. He loved _her_ in his own way. He dropped his hand, revealing the tear trickling down his features. He quickly brushed away the salty liquid, erasing its presence from his cheek. He wouldn't let this ghost haunt him right now, especially when he had an important mystery to solve. Mick wouldn't divide his attention between the present and the past when the woman in his vision had nothing to do with current affairs … and so his mind delved to reason away the past.

_Buzz_…the sound shook him from his thoughts, bringing him back from the pain-filled past. He walked around the freezer, following the sound that woke him from his death-like slumber. _Buzz_. It echoed again. He picked up the chair, setting it off to the side. On the floor beneath was his cell phone. The vampire smiled a toothy grin when he read the flashing name on the LCD screen: Beth Turner.

"St. John," he answered, trying not to sound too eager.

"It's about time!" Beth shot over the line. "I have a lead…"


	14. Chapter 14

**The Hunted Chapter Fourteen: Sins of the father**

The golden rays of sunlight reflected off of Beth's blonde tresses, illuminated her with a bright halo. She looked like an angel come down from the heavens to brighten the darkness of a vampire's world. Even if Mick could tolerate the afternoon sun, his hand would have still lifted to the level of his eyes to shelter against the light. His narrowed eyes peered through his fingers; he couldn't take them off of her as she walked up the pathway lined with tropical plants toward Joseph's front door.

Long, slender legs were completed by a pair of sassy red heels. Mick's eyes followed them down to the pumps then back up to flowing fabric of a white dress with red accents. It blew in the wind, rippling like the surface of a pond. Her arms swayed with each step, and in each hand was a black bag — one a business-style laptop bag; the other a plain black paper bag with handles that could be found at any boutique.

Beth mesmerized him — to the point he didn't even move when she finally reached the entryway. It was only when the doorbell chimed that Mick pulled at the loner shirt, forcing the buttons to straighten instead of bow at his midsection. He ran a hand through his hair and then sauntered from his sheltered location just as Beth crossed the threshold. Her soft canorous voice thanked Josef's butler — a human of thirty well versed in the whims and fancies of his employer. Her blue eyes scanned the room, and then her pink lips rose to reward the eighty-five-year-old with a smile. His lips followed suit. "Hi," he said casually as he came to a stop. He crossed his arms across his chest. "New outfit?"

Beth laughed softly, tossing her head ever so slightly and shrugging. "It was quicker to buy a new one then head home and change, especially coming up to the hills from downtown when my place is in the opposite direction." She spun, showing off her new garb. "Besides I thought it would be a better fit for Josef's neighborhood than my soot-covered skirt and blouse."

Mick laughed and then gestured toward the red couch with two stripped throw pillows. The pair moved into the living room. "Well you look lovely, Beth," he confessed innocently, but then again, Beth always did to Mick.

His compliment was returned by a quick flush of her cheeks; her chin dropped as if she could hide the color by averting her gaze. Mick could sense the blood rush, and it thrilled the vampire within. She didn't look back at him until she had seated herself comfortably on the sofa and set both black bags on the floor beside her. "I'm just happy that I'm not being mistaken for medusa any more — Mo gave me strict orders to leave my sister in Greece the next time I have to do a report." She cringed slightly over the imagery.

"I'm sorry if she was harsh. Mo — is…" the vampire tried to think of a polite way to describe the boss of Buzz Wire, but he had a feeling that even he would fall in line if the woman demanded it. "— _Formidable_." He decided that would be the politest way to describe her. He sat beside her, turning forty-five degrees so his body faced her. His elbow rose to rest on the back of the sofa, and the vampire leaned his head against the palm of his hand.

Beth cringed again. Mo could be formidable to the point of sadism. She was always after her to go to the next level, and the blonde took it as a challenge. But ever since vampires had found their way into her life, Beth had hidden more than she revealed, and Mo was picking up on that fact. "Yes and if we don't start making a few more breaks in this case then I think formidable shall turn to frightening." She flashed a wide smile, pleased with herself for the breaks she had found. "It's a good thing I have Sam. She's a wiz at finding names to go with mysterious faces."

"So that lead is a mysterious face then?" Mick queried. Ever since she called and told him she had a lead, the detective had been down right impatient to know what it was. As someone who likes to solve mysteries, it would annoy him not to have an answer anyway, but the fact that this case had spilled over into his personal life — particularly depriving him of a home — he really wanted to catch the bastard responsible.

"Mysterious to me. I have a name to go with it, but unless Josef knows what possible connection he has to him, I don't think we'll get very far," Beth continued as she leaned forward to withdraw her laptop from the square black bag. She flipped the top up and hit the power button. "Steve caught him on film and recognized him from some of the other scenes. He was there in the crowd." The customary music chimed as the screen came fully up. She slid her fingertips across the mouse pad and clicked on her _'active stories'_ file. She pulled up the image and then turned her laptop toward her friend.

Mick shook his head. "I don't recognize him," he said quickly.

"His name is Drew Cagan. From what I can tell, he's never worked for Josef." Her head jostled from side to side as she pondered the surface information she dug up when Sam finally found a name to go with the face. "He did his undergrad at UCLA; master's in English at Berkley; he's a member of the writer's guild; and currently has a novel on the New York Times best seller list. He's a Hollywood type — and young — only twenty-five."

"Hmm." Mick assessed the list, letting it roll through his mind several times. "Josef's into flashy, showy things, but I couldn't see why he would be involved with a writer of all things." He snickered. "Unless he plans on having him write the story of his life… that would be a long novel."

"But never dull," the 400-year-old countered. With his usually cocky swagger, he entered the living room. He didn't bother to sit; instead he rounded to his friend and looked over his shoulder at the picture.

"Names Drew Cagan," Mick told him, not sure how much of the conversation the older man heard.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Josef dismissed, and then moved over to one of his chairs. He slouched into it. The sun wasn't even down and he was up, and it had been a _'busy'_ morning. He really wanted to crawl back into the freezer, but his staff had roused him upon Mick's insistence that he hear his reporter's lead.

Beth's back stiffened when Josef entered the room. That casual air that emanated between her and Mick faded away like smoke in favor of a more formal posture and countenance for the reporter. The journalist wasn't afraid of Josef, but she didn't know him well enough to let down her walls. "Are you sure?" she questioned.

"Drew Cagan, Cagan, Cagan," Josef toyed with the last name as if it were a mantra. He shook his head. He didn't know a Drew Cagan… _but … no, he couldn't be related to…_ "Cagan – come to think of it. I think a Thomas Cagan worked for me about ten years ago. I fired him for suspected embezzlement, but nothing ever came of it. Not enough evidence." His slender fingers twirled a strand of his spiky.

"That's a start," Beth chirped happily. She turned her laptop back toward her and pulled up the file with her notes on the case, specifically those pertaining to _Mr. Author_. "More on Mister Cagan," she thought aloud. "Mother Elizabeth Moore Cagan, father Thomas Cagan." There, they had it and damn was Beth pleased with herself. "So Drew is your embezzler's son."

Josef snorted disdainfully. "Thank you; I deduced that when you said 'father Thomas Cagan." His words dripped with sarcasm.

If Mick had something to throw at that moment, he would have brained Josef with it. "It's more than Marcus gave you," Mick retorted darkly. "So what else do you know about Cagan?"

"I believe I mentioned that I didn't think Marcus up to this particular challenge." Josef smiled the way he only did when he was being an ass and knew it. He waved his hand dismissively. "As for Cagan, I erased him from my thoughts the day I sent him walking."

It was the smile that made Mick eye the older vampire, wondering what else lie behind it. He could always tell when something didn't add up and what had just struck him was why exactly Thomas Cagan would have such a vendetta against Josef. His best friend just stated plainly that it never went to trial. "Right — how much did he steal?"

Josef dropped his arm and scoffed in shock, as if hurt by his friend's subsequent disbelief. "According to the evidence, nothing," the elder vamp defended. He hated that nothing got past the detective, especially when he was under scrutiny.

"Uh huh, according to your accounts?" Mick shot right back. Usually with an audience, he let it go, but Josef wasn't going to get away with this — even if Beth was present. He detested when Josef lied to him.

The older man shifted his weight and then crossed his leg over the other knee. The pin-stripe of his slacks gave his legs an elongated look. "Half a million…" Josef muttered. His face twisted into a sour expression.

"Half a million!" Mick and Beth echoed at the same time. There was no way Josef let it slide. _No way in hell_.

Mick leaned forward. His gaze never deterred from the thinner, well-dressed businessman. "And you just let him get away with stealing half a million dollars from you, Josef?" He paused briefly, before continuing sarcastically, "In what lifetime would you let that happen?"

The smooth bottom of the vamps dress shoe hit the floor. "I didn't let him get away with anything, Mick!" he barked disdainfully. "But I didn't think twice about him afterward." He rose from his chair and jammed his hands in his pockets before pacing. He always paced when he was agitated.

Mick leaned back. His head bobbed at his shoulders as if he was on the verge of spouting some superior retort to once more put his ruthless friend in check. Instead, his next words came out even, but slow. "What — did — you — do — Josef?"

Josef stopped pacing. His eyes flashed a cold silver, and then returned to their warmer brown. He rotated his head dramatically and his lower lip pushed out like a child. He growled loudly, sending members of his otherwise silent, undetected house staff scurrying. "I had him black listed!" The words were clipped and fast.

"Black listed? From where?" Beth asked. She shut the lid to her laptop and set it on the couch beside her.

Josef snorted indignantly. "From every trading firm — you name it, I did it. By the time I finished with him, his career options were burger flipper at Burger King or waiter." He flopped back into the chair.

"Remind me never to piss you off…" Beth said absently. It was hard for her to imagine anyone having that many contacts that they could get someone barred from their profession as well as even the scrub jobs in Los Angeles. Of course, the trading firms were understandable. No one would want to hire a man even suspected of embezzlement.

Josef arched an eye brow. "I never remind," the vampire said curtly. "But you have been warned…"

"Josef," Mick interjected. Silence lingered between the trio for what seemed like an eternity while both vampires battled with daggers shot from their eyes. It was Mick who broke it. "So you essentially destroyed this guy — Thomas Cagan. Could be his son is returning the favor."

"It makes sense," Beth added. She shifted uneasily in her seat. She wasn't frightened of the elder vampire; he was, after all, Mick's closest friend, but she wasn't use to his _temperament_.

Josef rolled his brown eyes. "I'm not into making sense of mysteries, Miss Turner. That's Mick's job. I prefer cold, hard fact."

"And by fact you mean whatever you deem the truth, right?" Mick verbally jabbed.

The older vampire shrugged. His lips curved into a sinister smile. "You learn a lot in four-hundred years, Mick. And one: The key to survival is to make yourself the top of the food chain — i.e., destroying those who would destroy you."

Beth laughed sardonically. She was all for doing her fellow reporters one better. Getting the scoop first was part of the game, but … "It's only money."

"Only money for you." The verbal retaliation came from Josef as smooth as silk across skin. "You're _only_ human. What I've got; what I earned has to keep me for eternity."

The elder vamp did have a point. Even in Josef's youth, money was the root in the tree of life. Countries were ruled by those with wealth. Money was power, and customs of childhood were hard to shake. Mick even clung to the morals his parents raised him with. They were as much who he was as Josef's pompous beliefs were apart of him. The detective's only reasonable response was to take a deep breath and change the subject to eliminate the brewing tension. "While you ponder eternity, Beth and I will try to track down Drew Cagan." He glanced at his female friend to add, "But I think we need a pit stop first. I really need to get some clothes." He wiggled his shoulders, making the shirt stretch and buckle at the middle. "That fit."

At the word clothes, the reporter perked up. "Actually," she said quickly. She bent down to pick up the second black bag. She held it level and let it dangle from her finger in front of the eighty-five-year-old. "I've already covered that."

Puzzled, Mick accepted the gift and set it on his lap. He opened the top and laughed. Inside were three Henleys — gray, black and blue — and two pairs of jeans. It was much more than he expected, and her thoughtfulness made him downright giddy — the evidence manifested on his face. "Thank you," he said softly.

Josef scoffed. "As warming as this little moment is, I have work to do." He practically jumped from the chair and headed back to his office at the rear of the house. Work at least was practical, unlike his friend's affections for the human girl. _That never ends well…_

But Mick didn't share Josef's opinions in a great many matters. When it came to Beth, he warred over telling her she was the reason life was worth living, that he loved her. He couldn't do it to her though, make her face a love that could never survive. It would end with her death because he would never take away her humanity, and he didn't want to face the uncertainty of eternity alone.

Instead, he would face each day as it came, and today, they were on the hunt.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Hunted Chapter Fifteen: Best Selling Author**

Several stops and a few hundred dollars later, Mick's sources had found Drew Cagan's residential address. The one Beth's sources had found turn out to be a mom-and-pop-style diner in Santa Monica with no connection to the Cagan family, but a great place for Beth to pick up an order of French fries while they sought the twenty-five-year-old.

Drew Cagan had created a net of disinformation to protect his privacy from fans and would-be searchers. No matter how intricate the weave, though, there was always a way to cut a thread and watch it all unravel. Cagan's net wasn't all that intricate: A few fake addresses, a Post Office box for mail, and most of his personal accounts listed with the use of his mother's maiden name. After all, the twenty-five-year-old was on the New York Times Best Sellers list, about to come out with a second novel, and, if rumors served, the writer behind a new television series that would be the next _big_ fall hit.

The elevator doors slid open with a ding. Light from the large floor-to-ceiling windows filled the high-rise's hallway. Mick growled and threw back on his black shades before sauntering through the open passageway. The sunlight on his flesh felt about as comforting as the fire that morning. He walked toward the end of the hallway, the farthest from the elevator, to the door marked 15A, and rapped upon the barrier. Beth was two steps behind him.

"I should have the next section by the end of the week," Drew said definitely. He rose up from his desk chair at the sound of the knock, but didn't feel the need to pause his conversation. He did, however, close his laptop before opening the door. "No, I was delayed with the last chapter, but still shouldn't have any problem meeting deadline, Frank." He opened the door, glanced quickly between man and woman, and then waved them into his home without a second thought. After all, much of his business was conducted out of home. To him, they were just two more people with business. "I'll e-mail you the digital file and over-night the printed pages for corrections," he continued as he moved away from the entryway. "I'll call you Friday. (_Pause)_ Yes, that's fine. Bye, Frank." He dropped the phone from his ear, and then turned to the two uncertain guests lingering in his entryway.

"Drew Cagan?" Beth was the first to speak. She recognized the man from Steve's footage, but confirmed his identity nonetheless.

"Yes." He countered. A polite, yet easy smile hung at his lips. His hands slid into his front pockets with the phone.

"I'm Beth Turner, a reporter for Buzz Wire…"

"And I'm Mick St. John, a private investigator…" Mick quickly pulled out his P.I. license.

Drew shook his head and shrugged, as if confused as to why a reporter and private investigator would be visiting a member of the Writer's Guild.

"… We're investigating the arson fires of the Kostin buildings," Mick continued.

Cagan's eyes widened quickly before he spewed out defensively, "I had nothing to do with those."

"Mr. Cagan," Beth interjected. "My cameraman recognized you from the crowd at several of the fires. We have you on film."

Cagan withdrew a hand from his pocket and waived it dismissively. "I was doing research for my book, nothing else." He paused, but only long enough to take a breath. "If you don't believe me, you can call my editor, Frank Cross, in New York. I was just on the phone with him."

Mick's lips curved ever-so-slightly at the edges. He could hear the author's heart rate pick up. He took a step toward the twenty-five-year-old. "So, you didn't set those fires for your — _research_ — and perhaps maybe to get back at Kostin Industries for firing your father?" Leave it to a vampire to go straight for the jugular.

Cagan's arms quickly crossed at his chest. His eyes narrowed into a deadly gaze. "Look." His words were cold and sharp. "I'm a writer, a damn good one, which your blonde friend here should know if she's any decent reporter. And part of the reason I've had success is because I don't just sit at home. I go out and see things first hand. In this case, the response to fires, how the crews react, how people react, how fire reacts so that the descriptions in my novel are accurate. The fact that the buildings are Kostin's — well, let's just say, It gives me a great sense of satisfaction in watching that prick's properties go up in flame." He smiled coldly. "He deserves what he gets after what he did to my family, but it doesn't mean I would be stupid enough to start them." The writer scoffed indignantly. "Since you're a P.I. and all, why don't you go track down my father — I haven't seen him since Kostin had him black listed — perhaps he's the Cagan you should be looking for."

A good reporter knew when to exit a conversation, and from Cagan's stance, it was obvious that this writer was clamming up. But, that wasn't going to stop Beth from pressing. "I don't suppose you want to share how the fires are relevant to your novel."

"The hardback is due out in September, Ms. Turner," Cagan returned evenly. "If you want to know my plot line, then buy the book. In the mean time, as I said, you can call Frank Cross to verify that my presence at the scenes is research related."

"You could just answer her question yourself? We're investigating arson, not plotting to steal your story." Mick tossed out flippantly. "Besides, answering questions for us, I'm sure is preferable to the district attorney's office."

"By all means, share your finds with the DA," Cagan countered the threat. "There isn't anything illegal about watching a fire for research."

"But there is if you set it," Mick returned. He was going to push as many buttons while he had the chance; after all, people react and say things without thinking when provoked, often incriminating.

The young man's cheeks flushed slightly as he scoffed in anger. "I already told you, I had nothing to do with the fire. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have pages to finish for my editor, due by the end of the week. I don't have time for a tabloid journalist and a second-rate P.I." Cagan unfurled an arm to gesture none-to-politely to the door. "Get out."

What more could they do but comply?

"He's hiding something," Beth said quickly, just following the slamming door behind them. She didn't need vampire senses to notice his uneasy shifts and defensive demeanor. "And clearly Kostin Industries is a touchy subject."

"Yeah, but it might not go any further than that, Beth," Mick countered. "He didn't start getting really agitated until I mentioned his father. His heart rate shot up. He even started to perspire."

"He was agitated before that," Beth corrected. "Like he anticipated you bringing up his father's connect to Kostin Industries. Perhaps he knew how his presence at the fires would look to the police."

"Then why would he go?" Mick puzzled aloud as they reached the elevator. With one hand he pushed the down button, and shielded his face from the bright sunlight around them. "These fires are well-planned, set in the middle of the night or at times that human casualties are limited, and specifically targeted at Kostin Industries."

"Set in the middle of the night?" Beth jumped on the line. "Do you think he knows about…" She wasn't about to finish the question.

"Not necessarily, but I wouldn't rule it out."

"We have evidence that he's been at the last couple, but nothing that shows that he's there from the start or when he arrives. He could be telling the truth — just research." The elevator let off another ding in warning of the doors opening. "But if it isn't him, Mick…" Beth just had a glaring idea. "Perhaps he's still connected to the arsonist. I didn't hear a scanner in the apartment." The elevator doors slid closed.

"Someone's tipping him off." Mick loved the way she thought. She was the perfect partner for his work, and secretly, the perfect partner in life. "I'll see if Logan can pull his phone records. Narrow it down to phone calls received around the start of the fires."

"Right, and I'll see if I can get copies of today's reports." The minute she said it, her heart sank. Copies of police reports meant addressing another, yet personal matter. "Let's meet back at my place."


	16. Chapter 16

The Hunted Chapter Sixteen: From across the sea

Seedy was the only way to describe this hovel in the back of an old warehouse, nestled behind run-downed store fronts and dilapidated apartment buildings. The wood floors creaked under any weight; the room reeked of sweat and mildew. In the summer, it was as hot and humid as the air outside and in the winter barely warmer than a body standing in the pouring rain. Isolated, this dwelling catered only to those who knew of it.

Every time Drew Cagan wandered into the gym that time forgot, he held his breath, kept his head low and hoped to quickly spot the object of his visit. The shouts of spectators cheering on the boxers in the ring combined with the high-pitched whirl of the practice ropes were overwhelming. He hated the preparations that lead to archaic displays of manhood. Drew much preferred a treadmill to exert his energies … beating the pulp out of something? That was Gloria's style.

"Gloria O'Kelly!" he stated her name in such a matter-of-fact way, it was a wonder he bothered to say it at all. But he loved to say it, if only because it exasperated her in the middle of a workout.

"What be you want, Drew? Can't ye see I'm busy," she chided in Irish overtones. Her emerald eyes never left the object of her attentions — the speed bag that her gloved hands deftly struck over and over.

"I just wanted to thank you for the tip," he continued, completely ignoring the bite to her tone. He was too busy watching her waist-length black braid swish back and forth like a pendulum. "There were rumors in the crowd it was a bomb. Maybe it got that bastard Kostin."

The sound of the speed bag continued in its rhythmic buzz. "Jaysus, Drew. Ye have a mouth like a Malahide cod."

"Like a what?" One of his dark brown eye brows rose in confusion. He'd known Gloria for two years, since she moved back to Los Angles after living in Dublin with her grandparents. She was as American as he was, but spoke as if she were an ocean away — except when she focused on her speech patterns.

"Y'er mouth is going to be getting ye in trouble if you keep at it." She sighed in exasperation. Her hand struck the bag one last time, and then she reached up to still it.

"So I take personal pleasure in watching Josef Kostin get slowly tortured," Drew defended venomously. "After what that pompous ass did to my father, he deserves everything he gets."

"It be ye'r da's business," Gloria chided again. She grabbed a towel out of her bag and whipped it across the lean muscles of her neck and upper back. Gloria was a fine physical specimen; she always kept in shape and what resulted was a thin, eloquently formed body, with nicely defined muscles in all the right places. Her assets also assisted her in her job — a detective for the Los Angeles Police Department — and what she lacked in height, she made up in attitude. "Let it be, Drew. Ye have what ye need for ye'r novel."

"Yeah, I should, but he just burns me!" the twenty-five-year-old slumped into a nearby chair. He crossed his arms, frowning. "Some P.I. and reporter already stopped by my place, threatening to take evidence to the D.A." His voice dripped with contempt.

"Ye be after trouble," Gloria reminded. She sat down beside him. "Especially if you be drawing attention like that already." She placed a hand upon his. "I know what it be like, to wonder after what your life would be like with your da in it — I wonder after life with me ma all the time — but, Drew, come now. Ye keep after these fires and the Garda get after ye, not just a reporter and a P.I."

"The Garda? Glor, I really don't understand half of what you say some times." He forced the edges of his mouth up into a half-hearted smile.

"Police, cops — Garda — me?" Gloria laughed. Her eyes always appeared to sparkle and dance whenever she'd loose her harden exterior. She wrapped an arm about his shoulders, squeezing the opposite one with her hand. "Just stay away, Drew. Ye get ye'self arrested."

"Fine," he conceded. He raised the arm close to Gloria and reached up across his chest to grab her hand. He turned his head slightly to the side, finding her eyes with his icy blue. "How about you let me buy you dinner, Glor. We've been busy lately and I've missed you." He leaned a little closer to her. His tongue grazed his lower lip. His breath stilled.

Gloria quickly pulled away. "I have to work," she said softly. She avoided his eyes as she stood.

"You always have to work." A tinge of sadness entered his voice. He ran a hand through his hair. "And you're so distant and secretive lately."

"I be sorry, Drew." Gloria shifted, clearly uncomfortable with their dialogue. There were certain matters the young detective never said or discusses — her childhood, her parents and her emotions. "Ye know what me work means to me, don't ye?"

"Yeah, I do," he returned half-heartedly. He stood up. One hand drifted upward. The tips of his fingers caressed her arm. "Call me later." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. His body stiffened when he felt her do the same upon his touch. Of all the beautiful wonders of the world, Drew was convinced that Gloria was the greatest — it was just too bad she'd never let anyone in.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Hunted Chapter Seventeen: Mutually Beneficial**

Being the girlfriend of a well-respected assistant district attorney had its perks. In the past, Beth would share information with Josh Lindsey, and in turn, he shared additional information not readily in the press releases. Their relationship, especially when it came to work, was mutually beneficial. Lately, though, everything was rocky. It wasn't as if Beth could share all the details of her investigations, especially those concerning Mick, and the vampire was the preverbal elephant in the room that couldn't be address. When he was, Beth's relationship with Josh went from blissful to chaotic — like that morning.

Beth loved Josh. She didn't doubt that. What she questioned these days was whether he was her soul mate, the man she was destined to be with. It was Mick's presence in her life, her past, and what she found herself wanting in the future that started the wedge between her and Josh. But Josh is who she was with, and it was the assistant district attorney that deserved an apology.

Her lips pursed as she entered the open door to his office. She hung in the entryway, silently watching him skim through a file at his desk. His features were strained, intense as he concentrated. "Hi," she finally said, her voice shuttering slightly.

Josh's head quickly jerked up at the sound of Beth's voice. He sighed, and tried to force the frown on his face into a smile. What resulted was a pensive expression to match his preoccupied mind. "Hi," he finally returned.

Beth tossed up her hand, not really sure how to begin the conversation. What she said to him, it was unforgivable; what he said to her, it was the same. But still, when you love someone… "About this morning…" she started.

"Beth, I'm sorry," he cut her off. "I – I know that you and Mick are just friends, and that given what you both do, the friendship is mutually beneficial. I – I just worry about you."

Beth's features soften. Her lips curved into a slight smile, although nothing bold. "I'm sorry as well. I shouldn't have said…" She crossed the room to take the chair in front of his desk; her purse dropped to the floor at her side. "I wish you wouldn't worry though, or blame Mick for the trouble I get into. You know I have a way of finding it, with or without him around."

Josh laughed. The statement held enough truth to lighten the air in the room. "I know, Beth. I – I love you though, and if anything were to happen to you…" He would die without her; he knew it even if he couldn't say it.

"Josh, nothing is going to happen to me," she reassured him, but she could no more guarantee that then she could stop the sun from rising. There were unexpected twists in life, and sometimes, even when careful, the curve in the road hid the danger beyond.

The ADA sat in silence. He wished he felt it, knew it, without uncertainty, but he could not shake the overwhelming doubt that he was going to lose Beth, either in some unforeseen tragedy or by natural means. He couldn't hold her hostage or hold her close to keep her safe. Nothing he did would change the future. The best he could do was persuade her to take caution, but even that seemed to be a futile gesture of late.

"So." He took a deep breath, deciding it best to change the topic from this melancholic subject. "Any luck with the leads you had this morning? We still haven't come up with much from the list we received from Kostin Industries a few hours ago."

_'Shop talk, that is a safe topic,'_ Beth decided, now grateful to be past the apology stage. "Actually, yes. Mick also spoke to Josef Kostin and we've been going through a list of names, former employees." She shrugs. "Nothing too interesting, except maybe one — an author by the name of Drew Cagan."

"I have a Thomas Cagan on the list. What's the connection with Drew Cagan? Brother, father, son?" The attorney asked. Eagerly awaiting more, he leaned forward in his seat.

"Son. Apparently his father was fired from Kostin and afterward couldn't get a job anywhere." Beth laughed at the irony of it. The vampire could have easily just killed him, cleaned it up and went on with his existence, but then again, there was more than one way to 'kill' someone. Kostin had taken the slow, tortuous route in dealing with his thorn. "I can also place him at the last few fires. Steve caught him on camera."

The look on her face said something wasn't right. "Then what's the problem, Beth?"

"Mick and I just left there," she says flatly. "He claims he was at the fires doing research for his book; I called his editor in New York on the way here and he confirmed that Cagan's latest novel does entail descriptions and research on fire. But that's all he'd say. Something feels off though, Josh. I know I'm missing something." She shook her head in irritation.

"Well, maybe I can fill in some of the blanks." Josh sorted through the files on his desk, digging up the information he had on Thomas Cagan. After flipping the manila front open, his fingers slid down the page, while his eyes scanned the information. "Maybe he was just there for research," he spoke as he continued to flip through the pages. "Ah, here it is. Thomas Cagan's wife filed for divorce a few months after he lost his job at Kostin. Son, Drew and, oh, he has a daughter as well, Marian Cagan, age 16. Hmm. That's an interesting note."

"What?!" Beth piped up. She stood quickly and moved to stand behind her boyfriend to read the file.

"Here," he pointed, showing her the note. "Apparently the daughter has been in and out of psychiatric hospitals since she was twelve."

"And it looks like she was released a week ago into her mother's care." Beth smiled. There was something interesting about it that little note. If little sister was out of the hospital and up to mischief, she could be the one tipping her brother off about the fires for his book. After all, mental patients weren't known for their rational thinking. She liked where this train of though was going.

Josh turned his head to look at the blonde at his side. He smiled broadly as he gently fingered the ends of her hair. "We make a good team."

Beth's head turned quickly. Her cheeks flushed slightly when their eyes locked. The attorney was looking at her the way he used to, when things were good between them. "Yeah, we do," she conceded, but once more felt as if the words were a lie. To avoid his gaze, she kissed him quickly on his cheek and then moved back to the other side of the desk. "Hey, I have a favor to ask you while I'm here." She relaxed back into the chair.

"I'll do my best."

"Can you get me a copy of the report on the fire this morning?" She gave him that innocent, pleading face that usually yielded a beneficial return.

Beth," Josh returned in a sardonic tone. "You know you need to get the reports through the Information Officer."

"Yes, but those are edited," she countered point blank. "And, I was hoping that you might slide me the unedited version since the fire this morning was Mick's building."

"What!" Immediately Josh went on the defensive. "Were you there; when the bomb…"

"The bomb?" She latched on his slip. "So it was a bomb? Like Carl thought?"

Josh was taken back slightly. "Carl told you it was a bomb?"

"No, I…" She smiled mischievously. "I overheard his conversation with the fire chief." She paused, waiting for a reaction, and continued when her boyfriend just stared at her with an irritated look. "Please, Josh," she begged softly. "The report."

The assistant district attorney shook his head. "Fine. I'll get you the preliminary report, but next time you go through the I.O., Nancy Drew. And stop eavesdropping on my detectives."

Beth crossed her heart and smiled innocently. "You have my word."

**(Authors note: More to come, but the next update will be awhile off while I finish another project.)**


End file.
